


Blind Contour

by ButtonQuailie



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Artist Steve Rogers, Ficlet, M/M, Thundershield - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 03:32:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4988560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButtonQuailie/pseuds/ButtonQuailie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve runs across Thor sleeping nude in Avengers Tower, yet it is Steve who is really laid bare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blind Contour

**Author's Note:**

> A little vignette, my first in this fandom.

Once he gets over the shock of Thor stretched nude on the sofa, Steve justifies his continued stare by imagining the shadowy loft as an art studio. He stands at the edge of the Tower’s living room, the artist studying his subject; Thor lies cushioned in the center, modeling the loose-limbed gesture of sleep. A light from somewhere in the rafters outlines his figure in faint highlights. He holds an arm above his head, his other hand curled over a blanket which has nearly fallen off his lap.

Powerful physique. Yielding pose. Steve looks, and looks, and looks… he can feel the contours of Thor’s body in his hand, sharp lines, heavy strokes, the drag and kiss of charcoal against paper. 

He stops breathing when Thor tilts his head toward him, eyes still closed.

“Steven.”

Steve takes a small step back. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to intrude.” 

“No need,” Thor replies, his voice like ink brushed on a rough surface. “Stark’s suites… they are generous, but sometimes I prefer the open space.” He stretches a little where he lies. Steve swallows hard.

“Makes sense. Sorry, I’ll—”

Thor opens his eyes. Looks right at him. For some time now, Steve has recognized the warmth that Thor’s looks stir within him, but here, in the shadowed night with Thor’s skin shining in the periphery, he feels stripped.

Thor holds his gaze as he sits up, stands up, the blanket falling away. Steve burns, but he knows he cannot budge. He keeps his eyes on Thor’s face as Thor walks toward him and stops close enough to warm the air between them.

“You’re troubled,” Thor murmurs, brushing a thumb over Steve’s cheek. 

“Ah. Well. Missions, you know. Hard to stop thinking.”

“You fight valiantly with your body, Steven.” Thor’s eyes are deep, kind, keen. “It doesn’t seem fair that your body should fight you. That you should fight it.”

Steve’s throat goes tight. “Never said the world was fair.”

“No.” Thor runs his thumb along Steve’s jaw. “But you deserve rest.” 

He picks up Steve’s right hand, and Steve can’t look down, won’t look down, but both their hands come into view, and all Steve’s feathery sketches of desire go solid as Thor bows his head, pressing his lips just behind Steve’s knuckles. 

“Yeah, maybe,” Steve breathes, and his free hand reaches blindly for Thor's skin. “Maybe you’re right.”


End file.
